


Happy Flowers from the Mountains

by daemoninwhite



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alpha Jason Todd, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Body Worship, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Omega Dick Grayson, Poetry, Vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-24 19:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22003585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemoninwhite/pseuds/daemoninwhite
Summary: A slow, lazy morning after an unexpected heat. Jason shows off his poetry know-how. Dick becomes a willing audience.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 33
Kudos: 339
Collections: Batfam Kinkmas Exchange 2019





	Happy Flowers from the Mountains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BehindTheRobinsMask](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BehindTheRobinsMask/gifts).



> This was heading in a completely different direction, and then I saw Pentapoda’s beautiful JayDick art https://pentapoda.tumblr.com/post/169430915618/who-wants-some-jaydick-sunday-afternoon-sap and I got so inspired.
> 
> If you read this on a site other than AO3 or Tumblr, it's been stolen! Friendly reminder that if you want offline reading, you can download right from AO3 itself.

Dick wakes up because he’s hot. 

It’s not all over, and he sighs, both at that revelation and at being cognisant enough to make that observation. He loves his heats when he can spend them with his chosen partner, but they still take a lot out of him. The heat on his back is from the sun, which shines through his window during the afternoon if they don’t close the curtain—and Dick knows that they had, that he had made them a safe, cosy little cave before he’d allowed himself to be swept up in his heat. His alpha must’ve got up and opened them and cleaned Dick up as well while he was at it, since he doesn’t feel sticky or dirty in any way. He takes a deep breath in, takes a second to revel in the fading (with the window open) smell in the room, his own scent tangled around his alpha’s in a way that makes it clear that this is a claimed den, that people live here, that it is protected and will be defended. It makes all his omega instincts, so close to the surface with his heat, want to curl up and purr in contentment.

It’s not a bad thought, actually. Bruce always gives him lots of time off after a heat to recover, even after all these years, even after multiple omega children, he still has an old-fashioned alpha’s reflexive squeamishness when it comes to anything concerning his children’s mating habits. 

He rolls over onto the body next to him, and gazes up in Jason’s warm, happy green eyes.

“Hey gorgeous,” he murmurs.

Jason smiles back, his eyes crinkle adorably at the corners, and strokes Dick’s hair back off his forehead. “Sleep well?”

Dick revels in the way Jason’s sleep and sex-roughened voice rumbles in his chest. “I feel amazing,” he confesses.

Jason quirks an eyebrow. “Really?”

Dick obediently closes his eyes and goes through the almost-meditation that Bruce taught both of them years ago, the one where you go through your body part by part, tensing and relaxing your muscles, really listening to your body and finding out what hurts, how badly, can it be pushed through or does the injury need to be treated now. He does hurt in places, but it’s the nice kind of hurt that he gets from having a lot of athletic sex in a short timeframe—neither he nor Jason are in total control of themselves during either Dick’s heat or Jason’s rut, and sometimes that means having sex in new and weird positions (Dick knows this to be a fact, he talked Jay into recording Dick’s heat once. Definitely the best porn he’s ever watched, and the orgasms they both had while watching it were amazing). 

He opens his eyes and smiles, lets the lazy warm he’s filled with spill out into his smile. “All good.”

Jason clears his throat and tightens his arms around Dick, “Well, good then.” 

He squirms back so that he can rest his chin on Jason’s chest comfortably (coincidentally, it also lets him wriggle more firmly into Jason’s embrace. Who said that omegas aren’t devious?). “What’cha doing?”

Jason boinks him gently on the head with his Kindle, “Reading, before you interrupted me.”

Dick _knew_ that the Kindle was a great Christmas present! Take that, Bruce and your first edition copy of Jane Eyre! “What’cha reading?”

“Poetry. I, uh, I don’t think you’ll like it?”

Dick thinks back to the brief amount of poetry he had to study in school—and thinks of how Jason’s taste in literature so often echoes the books that he’s been forced to read in school and had absolutely hated—and winces. “Maybe I won’t?” he tries. “Read it to me!”

Even if it is, like, some boring, hundred-year dead poet, he can zone out and focus on Jason’s voice, so it probably won’t be too bad.

“If you’re sure?” Jason hedges.

Dick slaps Jason’s other pec (and admires the minuscule jiggle. _Damn_ but his alpha is stacked). “Just read to me.”

Jason clears his throat. “Tomorrow when the farm boys find this freak of nature, they will wrap his body in newspaper and carry him to the museum. But tonight he is alive and in the north field with his mother. It is a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual.” 

Dick stares straight ahead, blankly gazing through the corner of Jason’s jaw. He can blame the fact that he’s tearing up on his heat, right? Everyone knows that omegas get emotional around then—yes, usually the mood swings come before the heat and typically if an omega gets irrationally upset after a heat it’s because they’re not pregnant, and yes, it’s never happened to Dick before, but, it could happen!

“What the fuck.”

“I warned you?”

“I didn’t think it would be like _that_!”

“It’s… ah, I was going to say it’s a classic, but it isn’t. Yet. It should be. It’s just, the imagery-”

“A different poem, Jason!”

“Oh, sure! How about Wordswo-”

Dick bites his pec. “Absolutely not.”

“OK, OK, what about this?” There’s a moment as he searches for whatever poem he thinks Dick might like. “I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold.”

Dick hums. “I think I saw that on Twitter?” he offers.

“OK, so, no imagist. I can work with that.”

There’s a longer silence now.

Dick takes a long, deep breath. Jason is so deliciously warm, his skin smooth where it isn’t scarred, and still so, so soft. It invites his fingers to wander, and he turns his head so that his cheek is pillowed on Jason’s pec, so that he can watch the trail his fingers blaze across Jason’s skin. He traces the free half of Jason’s collarbone, drags them ever so softly down until he can play with Jason’s chest hair.

He grins, just a little, and starts moving his fingertips in a spiral, moving closer and closer to Jason’s nipple, Jason’s muscles subtly getting more and more tense beneath him. He stops just before he actually touches it, circles it a couple of times, and then spirals back outwards.

Jason grunts, but his tone is openly fond when he mutters, “Brat.”

“I didn’t want to distract you while you were looking for the perfect poem, Jason!” Dick chirps faux-innocently.

Jason growls and flips them over. Dick squeaks, laughs, and goes with it. He lands flat on his back, Jason towers over him, propped up on his elbows. His eyes are molten green, and Dick feels arousal begin to pool in his belly.

“I think I found the perfect one.”

“Really?” Dick breathes.

Jason bends down and kisses him. Dick winds his hands into Jason’s hair, tries to speed it up, but Jason resists him, keeps the kiss slow and lazy.

He pulls back just enough that their mouths brush together when he speaks, “I saw it and had to tell you.”

Dick giggles breathlessly. “Really?” he asks. “Now?”

“You are here.” Jason murmurs and kisses him. “Oh, you do not run away. You will answer me to the last cry.” He kisses the corner of Dick’s mouth, his jaw, the scent-gland just under his ear. It twinges, bruised from last night, but the slight pain just makes Dick hotter. “Curl round me as though you were frightened. Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.”

Dick hugs Jason’s head to himself. He thinks, inanely, of the time he was Batman, how it wore on him, how every moment he felt so clearly where he wasn’t measuring up to Bruce.

Jason kisses down his neck. He stops to suck a bruise into the divot between Dick’s collar bones. “Now, now too, little one-”

Dick snorts. “You’re my little wing.”

Jason bites a little harder. Dick snorts again but relaxes back onto the pillows. 

“You bring me honeysuckle, and even your breasts smell of it.” He nuzzles Dick’s chest, licks a long, hot line over Dick’s nipples, nips them, soothes the hurt with his tongue. Done, he pulls back just far enough that he can lock eyes with Dick. The eye contact goes through Dick like a bolt of lightning. “While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.”

“Jason,” Dick breathes.

Jason places a kiss over Dick’s heart.

Dick wonders if he can feel how hard, how fast it’s beating.

“How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.” 

Dick reaches out, traces the bite mark on Jason’s neck that marks them as mates. He smiles at Jason and knows that it wobbles. Jason catches his hand and kisses the palm.

“So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the gray light unwinds in turning fans.” He kisses down Dick’s stomach, nips at the swells of his abs.

“My words rained over you, stroking you,” he pets Dick’s thighs, Dick happily spreads them wider, half-hoping he’ll stroke Dick’s cock, half-hoping he’ll continue his worship. “A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. Until I even believe that you own the universe. I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.”

He slides his hands down under Dick’s ass, cups it, brings him up until he can rest Dick’s ass on his thighs. The movement is enough to make Dick realise that he’s absolutely dripping wet. Jason presses his thumb to Dick’s asshole, just enough pressure to tease, to make Dick squirm even if he wasn’t half out of his mind from Jason’s caresses. 

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees,” he finishes, looking directly into Dick’s eyes.

There’s a long, long moment of silence. Jason strokes over Dick’s thighs, up his sides, never taking his eyes away from Dick’s. Jason isn’t usually the most emotive, most demonstrative, but this… this…

“Jason, in me, now,” Dick finally murmurs.

Jason takes his hips and sinks inside of Dick. It hurts, he’s tender and swollen after his heat, but Dick _needs_ this.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jason whispers.

Dick throws his head back and cries out. He thinks Jason says something else, but he can’t concentrate, his mind is blank, he can’t, he can’t—

In the sea of sensation, there’s a sudden bolt, Jason’s hand curls around Dick’s cock just as he rubs against Dick’s prostate, and it’s quick, it’s too quick, but it’s too much, Dick can’t stop thinking about the look in Jason’s eyes—

He arches and comes and comes and comes.

He’s vaguely aware of Jason saying something, and more and more and more pressure inside of him and then Jason finally cries out, finally stops, and Dick lets everything drift away.

Dick comes back to his body eventually, Jason spooned up around him. His skin feels sensitised, too tight, every place where Jason touched or kissed or bit tingles deliciously. 

He reaches back, pats around until Jason gets with it and takes his hand. Dick twines their fingers together.

“I love you.”

Jason kisses the crown of his head, “love you too.”

They drift back off together.

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say, I’m a sucker for Jason reading Pablo Neruda to Dick.  
> Poems featured are:  
> Two Headed Calf by Laura Gilpin  
> This Is Just To Say by William Carlos Williams  
> (an excerpt from) Every day you play by Pablo Neruda (the Ultimate JayDick poem and yes I will fight you on this)


End file.
